


Monday the Thirteenth

by Hllangel



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, Groundhog Day AU, M/M, gratuitous mention of spinach pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hllangel/pseuds/Hllangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Grimshaw has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Over and over again. </p>
<p>A groundhog day AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monday the Thirteenth

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my ever present cheerleader Fiarra. I'd get nothing done without her creeping on me, I'm sure. Beta by @sharpiesaid and @_dodgyknees. Un britpicked this time because I'm an impatient bastard who wants to post things. Any mistakes remaining are my own. 
> 
> Idea originally from @dessertmeltdown, and I ran with it. 
> 
> This is a work of fiction based on the lives and likenesses of real people. If you are one of them and you're reading this, I'm so sorry. Please turn around. 
> 
> This was written in a 24 hour stint of madness in the aftermath of the story of [Nick's worst day ever.](http://magog83.tumblr.com/post/100023605785/just-when-you-thought-things-couldnt-get-more)
> 
> To recap, in one day: there were recording problems in the studio making him late for every meeting afterwards. The insides of Nick's fridge ate itself and smashed everywhere. He couldn't find his brush and dustpan so he had to go to the store. Ran out of petrol in torrential rain and had to walk to the nearest station to get more. Called Harry to mock him for puking on the side of the road and promptly backed into a post, wrecking the back end of his car. On the way home, still on the phone with Harry, drank the two week old juice that was in his car by mistake and promptly puked all over himself.

Nick had never really known that there were so many choices for a brush and dustpan. 

There's a whole wall of them, each with large letters proclaiming why it's the best, and why he should spend an extra two quid for a certain type of bristle. Nick is at a complete loss for which he should get, nevermind that they all probably do the same thing in roughly the same way. And he's dripping on the slick tile floor. 

He pulls out his phone and calls Harry instead, since he hasn't gotten the chance all day and he absolutely has to mock him for those pictures, as well as the ones Lily had sent him the other night from inside the party. It's late enough in Los Angeles that he should be awake, even if he _is_ a pop star on break and could sleep all day if he wanted. That's generally not Harry's style; he's too addicted to Soul Cycle. 

Harry picks up on the third ring, and he sounds a bit breathless, like he'd been scrambling for the phone. 

"Hiiiii," he says in that deep, drawn out way of his. 

Nick has to fight to keep the smile off his face long enough to pretend to gag down the line. 

Nick can so clearly picture the pout on Harry's face. 

"Heyyyyy." 

But then Nick ruins it by laughing, and Harry laughs with him. "Hiya," Nick says, finally greeting him properly. "You alright?" 

"Can I claim a three day hangover?" Harry asks. "I think I'm feeling poorly again." 

Nick has ample proof of just how drunk Harry was the other night. Between Lily's pictures, the pap photos which Nick will never in a million years admit to saving, Harry's drunken texts, and pictures from the roadside, it was pretty bad. 

On the other hand, Harry's still only twenty years old, and in excellent shape. 

"I think that's pushing it," Nick says. He can't be arsed to sound sympathetic — Harry is young and rich and fit and should be able to handle one night out. 

It's fairly late so there's not that much foot traffic through the cleaning aisle of the supermarket, and Nick stands there and chats to Harry. Tells him about interviewing Pharrell, then about the botched recording and his meetings. 

"You going to come back for the Teen Awards?" 

Nick already knows the answer, but he has to ask. Harry and his boys are on a break, and since they're not performing, there's no reason for Harry to leave his sunny new home for dreary, rainy London. Once, Nick would have thought he was reason enough, but that's not the case anymore, hasn't been for a year. It hurts more than Nick is willing to admit out loud to anyone. 

At least Harry is kind when he says no. "Dunno," he says, slow and deliberate. "I think Niall might be planning to show up? We recorded a thing before the break. For if we win." 

"A bit arrogant of you," Nick says with a smirk. Harry can't see it, but that doesn't matter, they know each other well enough to tell. 

"It's practical!" Harry argues, and Nick knows it's actually both. The awards are voted on by fans, and they've got the most dedicated fanbase in history, Nick's pretty sure. 

A store employee gives Nick a dirty look, and Nick realizes that he's still dripping everywhere and staring at the wall of brushes like an idiot. He grabs the first one he can reach and moves towards the cashier, stopping long enough to get a juice on the way out. It takes a bit of fumbling to get his wallet out and put his card in the machine whilst still on the phone, but he doesn't want to hang up, despite the look he's now getting from the cashier. He's a bit sorry about it, but talking to Harry is the best thing that's happened to him today, and he's not letting it go. 

He stays on the line as he dashes to his car and throws his things inside, and then himself, only missing a few seconds of Harry's rambling story as he turns on the ignition and switches the phone to the hands free. 

And then he promptly backs into a post. 

"Fuck. Shit. Sorry, Haz, hold on a minute, I've just backed into a post. I have to check." 

Harry hums his agreement and goes silent whilst Nick gets back out of his car into the rain and looks. It's bad. His insurance is going to love him, especially since he's just got his car back from having work done. 

He almost growls when he gets back in the car and shuts the door. "That bad?" Harry asks. 

"Yeah," Nick agrees, sour. "This day is fantastic." 

Harry laughs a bit in sympathy and launches into more stories about what he's got planned for the next few weeks, who he's working with, and what he's writing about. He sounds so genuinely excited to be doing everything he's ever wanted that Nick can't hold back a smile. This is why he can't be too sore over Harry leaving London, even as Nick misses him more each time he leaves. 

He stops at a stoplight and grabs for his juice as Harry's smirking about being able to win at FIFA for once in his life, and takes a huge gulp because he's thirsty. 

And promptly throws up on himself.

"You alright?" Harry asks, cutting off his story. "Or were you just taking the piss again?" 

Nick splutters and coughs a few more times, spitting what he can back out onto his knee, not caring about the mess since he's already covered in sick anyway. The taste of the bad juice-turned-fizzy-yoghurt-thing is in his nose along with the taste of his own sick in his mouth, and he can't even open the windows because it's too wet outside. It's overpoweringly awful and Nick's eyes are watering. 

It's just from the smell, not because today's been absolute _shit_. And he still has to clean up the mess on his floor at home. 

"Just puked all over myself," Nick says. "I've got to go. I'll call you tomorrow." 

It's a bit unfair, to just hang up without even waiting for Harry to answer him, but he's just grouchy now, and he hates people seeing him like this. 

It takes half an hour after he gets home to scrub down the kitchen floors and get all the glass into a bag and into the bin, and another ten minutes to shower. And then he finally, _finally_ gets to crawl into bed where nothing else can go wrong.

~*~

When Nick gets to work the next day, he has a massive case of Deja Vu. Everyone's in the same clothes they were wearing yesterday, and Fiona's not in. That one's easy enough to explain, though he'd thought she'd only requested the one day off to help get James situated at his parents'. Given the pictures she'd been sending him, it was pretty horrific, so he doesn't blame her for wanting to take an extra day to make sure everything's alright.

There's a tray of biscuits outside Gemma's studio again, which is odd. It happens occasionally, but two days in a row is weird. He pockets a few of them anyway, since he'd snoozed a bit too long to be able to make his juice before coming in, and it'll be at least an hour before he can send someone down to the canteen for a proper breakfast, if it's just him and Finchy in the studio. 

"Why are you wearing that?" Nick asks Gemma, off air. "You wore that yesterday." It's not unusual for him to comment on Gemma's clothing, as she's got some truly ridiculous outfits, but she's giving him a weird look anyway. 

"I didn't see you yesterday? Today's Monday." 

Nick frowns because no, it's Tuesday. Yesterday was Monday, and it was a hell of a day. Not one he's keen on repeating anytime soon. "Today's Tuesday?" 

Gemma can't answer him directly because the song is ending and they've got to talk on radio. There's a ridiculous number of people in the studio, again, and Gemma's asking him about Strictly. Nick's told this story already, but he can't pass up the chance to mock Scott's crab fancy dress, so he rolls with it. 

At least, he does until Gemma asks him what's coming up on the show. 

"We've got Ben Howard coming in today. As well as Chris Stark. He's doing a thing he won't tell me about for the Teen Awards, which are coming up this Sunday." 

Gemma's looking at him like he's crazy, and Rodri's shoving a printed schedule on the desk in front of Nick, and it very clearly says that it is Monday, the thirteenth of October, Pharrell Williams is coming in, and he's announcing the first of the Teen Hero awards. Except that he's done all that. 

They're still live on air. "I think I'm so excited for the Teen Awards I'm just skipping days in my head?" 

Gemma doesn't look like she believes it, but they wrap up the link, and Nick goes over to his own studio, where Fiona's still not there. He finally looks at his phone, and even his phone agrees that it's still Monday. 

At least he knows how the Pharrell interview is going to go. Maybe he'll remember what he actually wants to ask. 

He does, but the answer is disappointing. 

Recording goes terribly wrong, again, meaning Nick is still late for all his meetings for the Teen Awards and Sweat the Small Stuff, and everything else he's got to do. He hates when people are mad at him, and hates it even more when they've got good reason. 

His fridge is still smashed when he gets home, and he still has to go to the shop. He still runs out of petrol halfway there.

He still calls Harry, because that's got to be his reward for living through this day twice in a row. Even though he's already done it, he still backs into a pillar, still drinks the wrong juice, and still pukes on himself whilst on the phone with Harry. 

At least Harry has some sympathy for him, but it's about as limited as the sun in California, because Nick gets about ten pictures in a row of Harry's legs by his pool, captioned _hotdogs or legs_. 

Every single one of them are Harry's legs. Like Nick's not going to recognize that. Honestly. And the thought of hot dogs are making him ill again. 

He should just turn off his phone and go to sleep.

~*~

Nick is so over the day by the time they get to Pharrell's interview. He's done this twice already, and while he likes Pharrell's music, he doesn't like repetition, and he can already feel himself getting annoyed at having to do this whole thing _again_.

The rest of the day isn't terrible, though. Nick knows what to expect, so he calls ahead to all of his meetings warning them that he's going to be late. He wishes he knew more about the technical bits of the radio equipment so he could help figure out what's going wrong, instead of watching Finchy and Ian get more and more frustrated as the hours go on. 

At least everyone isn't completely mad at him, when he manages to get to everything else on his list for the day. He has his taxi driver stop at a petrol station and the supermarket on the way home so that he won't run out of petrol the next time he takes his car out, and he's prepared for the mess when he opens his fridge, having locked Pig away in the bedroom so he won't have to worry about her eating safety glass with a side of ketchup-wine. 

Once he's let Pig back out into the rest of the flat, he sits down on the sofa with a carton of coconut water and calls Harry. The gagging goes down just about as well as it had the last two times, and even though the conversation is nearly exactly the same as it has been the last two days, it's good to hear Harry's voice.

Harry's stories make little sense at the best of times, but Nick still loves listening to him talk. By the time they ring off, Nick is feeling much better about his day, and about everything in general.

~*~

"Oh for fuck's sake, why won't you work?" Finchy is about two seconds away from kicking the table in frustration. They've been at it for about three times as long as it should have taken to record these new trailers. But someone's changed a setting somewhere, and apparently trying to change it back is breaking the entire setup. They've recorded dozens of versions but they're all wrong and don't sound like him.

Nick checks his phone, already knowing that it's going to be horrifically late for his very carefully scheduled day. It's nearly three by the time they figure it out and Nick gets to go. He's texted ahead to let them know he's running late, but there's no way to make anything take up less time. As the afternoon wears on and he trudges from meeting to meeting, everyone is progressively more irritated, including himself. 

He snaps at his taxi driver, but apologizes right away, and has him stop on the way home so Nick can get a can of petrol. 

He forgets the brush, but at least he doesn't get soaked by having to abandon his car in torrential rain for more petrol on the way to the supermarket. He grabs the first brush he sees, pays for it without getting juice this time, and calls Harry once he's out of the car park and on the street heading home. 

By the time he's turning the corner onto his street, Nick is convinced that he may have been able to make the trip to the store without doing damage to himself or his car. Of course, this is when he hits a patch of standing water and hydroplanes into a railing. He hadn't been going very fast, but he's a bit shaken up, and Harry waits patiently on the line whilst Nick checks himself and his car for damage. 

There's a huge scrape and dent running down the passenger side of the car, wonderful. His hands are still shaking a bit as he shifts the car into drive and pulls back into the road. "I should go," he says. He's about a minute away from his flat, and he's got to clean up his kitchen before he can sleep. 

"Call me tomorrow?" Harry asks. There's a pleading note in his voice, and Nick's not sure what to do with that. 

He can't say no, though, so he promises he will and hangs up. He sits in his car for a minute before going in, hoping that Pig hasn't got out of the bedroom during his trip. She hasn't — that's one thing that hasn't gone wrong today — and Nick cleans the kitchen before he lets her out. 

It's a fight to get her to go outside for one last wee before bed, but he manages, even if she barely gets outside the door before doing it. It's better than having her go in the hallway in protest. He's barely got enough energy to remember to plug his phone in before he falls asleep.

~*~

On day five, Nick doesn't call Harry. He figures that maybe he won't be as distracted driving home from the shop, since he'd forgotten to get a brush again. He makes it home without incident, cleans his kitchen and walks the dog, and crawls into bed. It's been an awful day, but not as comically bad as before.

He still itches to call Harry, to hear his voice. And whilst he'd promised to call tomorrow, it's technically not tomorrow, and as far as he can tell, Harry won't notice if Nick doesn't. 

Nick notices. 

He hasn't talked to Harry this frequently in ages, even if he's the only one remembering each new night. He misses Harry's rambling story about why he ended up on the side of the motorway. Misses getting to mock him for it, even though they both know Nick with a hangover isn't pretty either. Though he's gotten better at dealing with it as he gets older; there was that time he'd pushed through it to make Harry a pie. 

Nick lets himself debate it for about five more seconds before turning his phone face down on the bedside table and turning on an episode of the Simpsons, letting Pig snuggle into his side. He hopes she's not remembering each day, or he's teaching her terrible manners.

~*~

It's Monday again.

The Pharrell interview, which had been the only good part of Nick's day, is starting to turn awful now that he's gone through the interview every day all week. He likes Pharrell, sure, but he's a bit stiff, and it's hard keeping up his energy when he knows what all the answers are and knows that Pharrell doesn't really want to be there. 

When Finchy's text comes in saying he's awake, Nick responds that he's sick, can someone please cover for him? 

It's a shit thing to do, he knows, but he can't deal with another version of this stupid interview. There is literally nothing left that Nick can appropriately ask him on air where he doesn't already know the answer. 

Finchy calls, and Nick puts on his best sick voice. It's easy when he's still bleary from sleep and from his fifth terrible day in a row. The good thing is that because he never calls in sick, it doesn't take much to convince Matt that he's actually ill, so he rolls over and goes back to sleep. Gemma can do the interview. 

Pig wakes him up somewhere around the end of the show, begging to go out. It's still wet outside, but it's been nearly twelve hours since her last walk. Nick doesn't fancy having to clean up the hallway so he throws on some clothes and takes her out. When he gets back he makes his coffee and starts calling around to cancel or postpone his meetings. His throat's a bit rough by the end, from coughing so much down the line. 

There's a bit of guilt nagging at the back of his skull, and it's probably what's making his throat actually sore now, but he pushes that aside and promises to actually respond to all the emails that are going to be coming in so he doesn't have to go in and do anything. Matt's annoyed at having to reschedule the prerecord they have in the afternoon, but it works out that they can do it on Thursday instead. 

Once he's got everything actually taken care of, even though he suspects that it's not actually going to matter, he calls Daisy. She's too busy to bring him baked goods and be miserable with him, so he resigns himself to moping alone. 

The only bonus to being home is that he knows exactly what time his fridge collapses, and he still has to go to the store for a brush to clean up the mess, he still runs out of petrol and still has to walk to get some in the torrential downpour.

He doesn't call Harry, his theory being that he doesn't want to be distracted so maybe he can avoid running into a post and drinking the wrong juice. But when someone cuts him off and clips the front end of the car before racing off through a just-changed light, Nick grabs the wrong juice anyway. One of these days he's going to remember to bin the bloody thing before he gets in the car. 

It hardly matters now. He's soaked through with rain and sick, he's got a massive headache building, and if he did call Harry now, it would just be pathetic. He calls Aimee instead, and blackmails her into coming over with wine, since all of his is smashed up. Ian can be cross with him for interrupting their reunion sex if tomorrow ever actually gets here.

When bedtime for any sane morning DJ comes and goes, Nick is awake and huddled in a miserable drunken mess in the corner of his sofa with Pig curled up in his lap. Aimee snaps a picture of him before he can tell her to fuck off, and then sends it to someone. Probably everyone. 

Probably instagram, but Nick is too miserable to check. He kicks her out instead, and goes to bed. 

He's just on the edge of consciousness when his phone buzzes with a text. He's awake enough to care, so he squints at his phone, bringing it up right to his nose so he can read the text without reaching for his glasses. 

It's from Harry, because of course it is. From Nick's perspective, he's talked to Harry four out of the last five days, but each time he does he crashes his car and gets sick. Of course tonight he'd still crashed his car and still gotten sick, though it's less his fault this time. 

_You alright? Aims said you were having a bad day._

Nick nearly presses call, just to hear Harry's voice, but for all that he doesn't cry easily he's surprisingly close to it right now. He doesn't know how to break this bad day, he hasn't seen Harry in months except through stupid snapchats and pap photos, and excluding every variant of today, hasn't heard his voice personally for weeks. He can't break that streak whilst crying down the line at him. 

Instead, he texts back. _Tell you about it tomorrow. Sleeping it off now._

Harry's response comes nearly immediately. _I'll call when I wake up. Miss you._

Nick tries not to dwell on that. He's partially successful in the endeavor, and falls asleep very nearly shortly after.

~*~

He calls in sick again the next day, which is _still fucking Monday_. Instead of trying to be professional, he just ignores all of the calls that come in and goes over to Collette's with Pig. He buys petrol on the way, and even manages to remember to throw out the old juice while his car is filling up.

Bless Collette, she doesn't ask too many questions, just provides him with coffee and food and wine and rolls him into a taxi at the end of the day. 

He'd left his phone at home, and when he looks, it's out of batteries. He doesn't bother to plug it in, he doesn't want to see the angry voicemails and missed texts. He just lets Pig climb up on the bed with him and goes to sleep.

~*~

Nick is in the taxi and almost at the Broadcasting House for his eighth Monday in a row when he thinks, _fuck it_ , and has his driver take him to home so he can grab his passport, and then back to Heathrow. He doesn't care that this taxi is being paid for by the BBC right now.

He doesn't care about anything, and he knows he's going more than slightly mad. 

When he gets to the airport he buys a ticket for the first flight he can find to Ibiza, first class because why not, if nothing matters anymore anyway. 

Two minutes before the show starts, when he's not in the studio, his phone starts going crazy with messages from Matt and Fiona and Gemma. When he doesn't answer those, the calls start coming in, and Nick takes great delight in switching his phone to airplane mode. 

It's the tail end of the season in Ibiza, but the beach is still warm and the clubs are still going. Nick literally has nothing but the t-shirt and jeans he'd put on for work this morning, along with his jacket. Not the best look for a club, but he doesn't care anymore. 

He spends too much on a lavish lunch, more than that on a hotel room for an afternoon nap, and only spares a tiny bit of thought for what will happen if this day doesn't reset like all the rest. He only turns on his phone towards dinner time to text Emily so she can look in on Pig. 

There's an outpouring of messages as soon as the wireless connects, but Nick doesn't even look. There's a voicemail from Ben, which has to be unpleasant. There's multiple messages from Finchy, from his parents, from Aimee and Ian and Collette and even Harry. Harry's is the only one he listens to, and it's just a quick message asking if he's alright. 

He doesn't call anyone back. Once he's made sure that Pig is going to be fine, and reassured Emily that he's not completely mad, a feat which had taken a very long and possibly unsuccessful phone call, he uses the last few bits of his battery to pull up some of the headlines about him. 

They're not pretty, but Nick is pretty sure they won't matter in the long run. He leaves his phone in the hotel room and heads downstairs to the club that's attached, and orders three shots to start. 

He wakes up in his own bed, his phone plugged in on the bedside table, and it's Monday again.

~*~

Nick loses track after that.

He goes back to work for a few days, but completely blows the interview. It's a lot more difficult to deal with everyone's disappointment when he can see it up close. 

One day he calls Harry as soon as he wakes up and tries to explain what's going on. He needs a friendly ear, even if it's only going to last for a day. 

Harry doesn't react at first, and even though it's the wrong hours for Nick to either be on the radio or recording Call or Delete, it takes a while before Harry believes that it isn't a prank. He's really starting to hate that game. Harry is sympathetic once he understand what's going on, and it's nice to have someone on his side for a day. Someone he can text and complain about how thing have or haven't changed. 

Somewhere in the second week, Nick realizes that he can prevent at least one thing from going wrong. There's no reason for his shelf to break if he takes everything off the shelf and physically takes it out of the fridge; that should keep it from collapsing. Nick nearly cries the first time he comes home to find that his kitchen isn't full of broken glass. 

Of course, that night he lights his stove on fire trying to make his tea. He sticks to takeaway after that. 

Nick goes back to Ibiza twice more before deciding that he wants to go somewhere else. He goes to every major european city and eats every bit of fried food that's horrible for him, because nothing actually matters anymore. He even hops on a flight to Rio one day, though because it's ridiculously long he doesn't even get to land before he's waking up in his own bed again. 

He's told Collette about the giant reset button that is his life at least five times, Emily twice, Aimee seven, all on different days. He tells Finchy only on days when he's sour enough to sabotage the interview, and generally only because Finchy pulls him aside after to reprimand him, and remind him that they could all lose their jobs if this continues. 

Nick can tell that Matt is genuinely worried though, because from his perspective this mood is coming out of nowhere. Nick may joke about his own failures, but he would never actively sabotage himself like this. 

He never tells Harry again. It's hard enough to be re-living the same day without having the extra pile of guilt over being mean to Harry when Harry's just trying to be sympathetic. Harry's nice. It's what he does, and even when Nick knows he won't remember it, he can't risk being even a tiny bit mean to him. His conscience would never recover. 

He's probably going mad, but he doesn't know how to stop. He can't stay in the same room for more than three hours, how is he supposed to live in the exact same day, possibly forever.

~*~

Nick has long since lost track of how many times he's lived this awful fucking day, and it's been a long time since he actually did anything other than fuck around with everyone in his life, so maybe it's time to try again. Time to get it right and break free.

He hums a few bars of Ariana Grande. 

He wakes up and gets out of bed immediately, because he needs an extra few minutes to take the wobbly shelf out of the fridge before it shatters. He knows which foods are expired, so he fills up the bin and takes that out, too, before giving Pig a kiss on her nose and climbing into the taxi that's been sent for him. 

It's possibly the best take of the Pharrell interview yet — Nick even gets a genuine laugh out of him. He really hopes this is the one that sticks; it's some of his best work. 

When he comes back into work for recording after lunch, he remembers the solution they'd come up with ages ago, so he fixes it right away, before they even do the first take. Matt and Ian are suspicious, but Nick shrugs it off. He'll take one day of looking like he knows what he's doing with the equipment. He can run his own soundboard in the mornings but anything more than that is beyond him most days. 

Nick puts everything into the stupid trail they're having him record, and on playback, it sounds fantastic. He's out the door by two, and a few minutes early for his first meeting. 

There are no words for how refreshingly wonderful it is not to have everyone angry at him all day. He really misses the way people use to like him. 

On the way home, he has his taxi driver stop for petrol, which he definitely needs so that he can go back out and get his tea from his favorite greek place. He'd walk if it weren't for the rain, which hasn't stopped for months now, at least from his perspective. Nick is surprised the entire city hasn't drowned yet. 

He throws the old juice in the bin whilst waiting for his food, which smells heavenly. He even calls Harry on his way home and manages not to back into any posts or get sick on himself. They talk for over an hour, and Nick is smiling by the time he's yawning too much to keep going. 

There's no broken glass in the fridge, no damage to his car, and Nick lets Pig up on the bed with him because it's been nice having her there. He'll be sad to give this up once he gets everything back to normal again. Can't let her get into bad habits. 

He falls asleep quickly with the Simpsons on in the background, and for once is finally hopeful that maybe he's got everything sorted.

~*~

It's Monday again. It's half five on Monday morning, _again_.

Nick is really fucking tired of this. He'd got everything right yesterday, so why is he doing all of this over again? 

Now that he's got the structure to get through his day without major incidents, he does everything without really thinking about it. Cleans out his fridge, again, so the shelf doesn't collapse. Gets to work on time. Matt looks at him oddly when he doesn't bend over a paper to start writing down questions for Pharrell, but Nick's old hat — heh — at this interview, so he doesn't really need to. Let Matt think he's being unprofessional for an hour. He'll come around when he the interview starts and he sees that Nick really is prepared. 

It's not as good as yesterday's, but it's passable. Pharrell speaks slowly and deliberately and pauses a lot in what he's saying, but Nick is used to people like that. One person. Nick's had lots of practice all the same. 

He takes Pig out in the pouring rain at lunch, comes back and does the recording he's got to do. Again, it's not great, but it's passable. Maybe he'd spent all of his remaining energy yesterday. He'd been so _sure_ , and here he is again. He's so tired of this, so tired in general, and no one will understand why. Maybe Pig does, she'd stuck unusually close to his legs through lunch, getting his dry tracksuit bottoms damp from her fur. 

No one's mad at him in his meetings, though they're a bit frustrated because he's too tired and restless and _bored_ to pay full attention. He knows what everyone is going to say, knows what he has to do in the next few days. If only he'd get to actually do any of it. He'd like that chance to be more than just someone's annoyance over and over and over again. 

Going home, he keeps his routine the same as it's been for the last week. He gets petrol on the way, goes out and gets takeaway and doesn't call Harry until he's back home, safe and dry on his sofa. 

"Are you alright?" Harry asks, after about ten minutes. "You're really quiet." 

That first day, Nick had called Harry to mock him for his hangover, but even that's lost his charm. Now, it's just a pretense to get Harry on the phone. They don't talk as much as they used to, and it's not just a function of Harry traveling. He'd picked up for Nick minutes before going on stage that time. Harry always picks up, and Nick doesn't know enough about his life in California to know when it's a good time to call. 

It's sad, that. Nick picks at his moussaka and tries to figure out how to put everything into words. 

"Grimmy?" Harry asks again when Nick doesn't answer fast enough. 

In the end, Nick decides to fuck everything and tell him the truth. It's a day without consequences, so what could really happen? 

"I just miss you," Nick says. "I've had the worst series of bad days possible, over and over again, and the bright part of every single day was talking to you. Well, most days. I crashed my car just because you were on the line. More than once." 

Nick has to laugh at himself, because it sounds so ridiculous out loud. He laughs until he's hysterical and has to put down his plate and clutch at his stomach. He's so tired of this whole mess, and he just wants to crawl back into his bed and never leave, but doing that is probably just going to mean he wakes up to yet another Monday. He's crying by the time he gets enough breath and control back to hear Harry. 

The phone's been by his ear the whole time, but Nick's lost the plot of his life, so it takes a minute to focus and hear the words coming from the other side. 

"Nick, Nicholas. Talk to me, please. Come on." He's speaking faster than normal, and he sounds worried. Which is fair, since Nick has gone completely round the bend, and Harry's been witness to it. "Fuck, Nick, who should I call, who's closest?" 

"I'm fine," Nick says, but he nearly chokes on the words. He's not fine, not at all.

It's Harry's turn to take a deep breath before speaking. "You're not, I know you're not. You've never sounded like this." 

Harry pauses, and Nick closes his eyes, wondering what's going on in California. Is Harry at his own house, or is he out with his new friends, ducking away from the table to have relative privacy when he speaks. If they're in public Nick's time on the phone is limited by however long it takes someone to notice Harry. It's never long — Harry's very noticeable. 

"Why don't you come home anymore?" Nick asks before he can stop himself. No consequences, and he needs to know. "You always used to come home." _To me_ is what he doesn't say. "To me," he says because fuck it. He needs to hear the words, needs to hear them from Harry. Maybe then he can patch up his heart and move the fuck on with his life. "You stopped doing that. Tell me why?" 

Harry sniffles. Fuck, Nick's made him cry. He's never made Harry cry before. 

"Nevermind," Nick says. "Don't listen to me, I'm in a mood." 

"No," Harry says, so quietly that Nick can barely hear it. "No. You deserve to know." 

"No," Nick disagrees. "I don't want you coming back if that's not what you want. Don't humor your old friend because he's gone a bit mad after too many Mondays." 

"Don't do this." 

Nick isn't quite sure what Harry's asking, only that he _can't_ be the one who anchors Harry and keeps him from doing exactly what he wants. He just doesn't know how to say that, and get Harry to believe it. It had hurt so much to go from what they used to be when Harry still lived in London to what they are now. Good friends still, but the kind that don't speak every day. Nick hears more about what Harry's up to from tumblr and the Daily Mail than from Harry himself. 

He's been telling himself he can live with that, but maybe he can't, as it turns out. He also doesn't want to get in the way of anything, and so far that's been his priority. For this one day, this one endless day, he's changing that. 

"When did we change so much? Why did you leave me behind?" 

"Please," Harry whispers. There's soft murmuring on the other end of the line, and it seems that Harry's not alone. He's never alone. He hears Harry reassuring whoever it is that he's fine, everything's fine. 

They're both lying through their teeth. 

Nick's not going to get his answer tonight. Or ever, maybe. His chance is over, he's taken up enough of Harry's time. "Go on, popstar," Nick says. "Go make the most of your youth." 

"Can I call you tomorrow, please?" Harry asks. "I want to talk to you properly." 

"Sure." Nick can make that promise easily because it won't matter. Harry may want to continue the conversation, but he won't get to. Nick will sleep and the day will reset, and he'll never have talked to Harry in the first place. He'll just be left with the memory of Harry begging to know if Nick's alright. 

It's probably better that way. 

"Sleep well," Harry says, but he doesn't hang up. 

"Have a nice day," Nick says, and he does. He stares at the blank screen of his phone for a long time after the call is over, and then takes himself to bed, where he takes forever to fall asleep.

~*~

It's not raining when Nick wakes up. That's something different. Different is good. Different is fantastic. He nearly vaults out of bed to get dressed, though Pig takes some more convincing. It may not be wet outside, but it's still cold and his dog is not a morning person.

Eventually he's going to have to figure out a way to break her of her habit of weeing right outside his door. Today, though, he's too happy to care. 

"Someone's in a good mood," Gemma comments when he bursts into her studio. 

Nick giggles. Actually giggles, and she's barely said anything. Now they're really going to think he's going mad, but he can't be arsed to care. It's fucking _Tuesday_ and he gets to talk to Ben Howard instead of Pharrell. He never wants to talk to Pharrell again in his life. 

By the time they get to the end of the show, and through the new round of _What's Fearne Typing_ , Nick is positively ecstatic. Not even Fearne's beef with him over forgetting to help her with her outfit for the Teen Awards is bringing him down. She won't stay mad at him for long, anyway. 

Pig lets him take her on a longer walk when he gets home, and he only has to coax her through the last little bit before they're back at his flat. She immediately makes herself comfortable on the sofa and falls asleep again. Nick loves his dog. She ridiculous and perfect. 

He calls Aimee, because whilst he's been living his whole day many times, he's only seen her a tiny bit, because to everyone else she's only been back in the country a few days and is jetlagged and claiming boyfriend time with Ian. Nick doesn't really give her a choice this time, just picks her up and takes her for lunch at Shoreditch, where they end up having to stay quite a bit longer than anticipated because he really doesn't want to crash his car. Again. 

He'd only have his own stupidity to blame for it this time. 

When he drops her off at home, he gives her a fierce hug which she returns, even if she doesn't quite understand why. Nick had made a bit of an attempt to explain Monday, but he's sure it didn't really get through. It's an absolutely insane story.

Now that he's possibly on the other side of it, even he's not sure he believes what's happened to him. 

He was supposed to have a few meetings this afternoon, including one with Rita to pick out the rest of her outfits for Sunday. She's got five already, and there's no way she'll be able to use all of them, but she's insisting. Either way, it's going to have to wait a day. He's going home, and he's going to enjoy the rest of his day without disaster looming.

~*~

Nick knows something's off the moment he walks in the door, when it takes Pig more than three seconds to come find him. He figures out why as soon as he rounds the corner out of the entryway into the living room. There's a pair of boots thrown down next to the sofa, a laptop that isn't his on the coffee table next to a half-full mug of tea that Nick definitely didn't leave out this morning, a luxe leather travel bag thrown on the other sofa with a soft green hoodie draped over it, and Harry sitting cross-legged in the middle of his floor playing tug-of-war with his dog.

"Hiya," Nick says, because he can't think of any other words at all. Harry's supposed to be in California. Nick had talked to him yesterday. Multiple yesterdays. Too many yesterdays to keep track of. 

Harry grins up at him and drops the rope. Pig takes her victory and runs away with it, probably to the bedroom. It's not like Nick has a huge flat with multiple rooms in which a small dog could hide. 

"Hiya." 

Harry stands up slowly, unfolding his long legs as Nick watches. He's wearing his old favorite jeans, the ones that Nick's seen him wear for ages. They're almost as ripped as that one pair of his, but Nick understands the sentiment; when you find jeans you love that much, you hold onto them and wear them and patch them up until they literally fall apart on you. 

He's trying not to see a metaphor in that. He can't even think about things falling apart. Not after the things they'd said last night. 

Nick's frozen as Harry moves closer, stopping just too close to be proper social distance. It's odd, the way an inch or two feels like such a huge difference. Their toes are nearly touching, Harry's feet in generic white socks and Nick's in his now-scruffy boots. 

This close, Harry seems tired. His hair looks greasy, messy from where he's no doubt been running his hands through it. He never was able to leave it alone. 

"What are you doing here?" Nick reaches out to pull him into a hug, trying not to notice how easy it is, how Harry fits right up against him, how his arms hold so tightly around Nick's back, how his face tucks so easily into Nick's neck. He absolutely can't pay attention to the tickle on his neck from Harry's breath. It's short and choppy and when he sniffles, Nick suspects he's not _just_ breathing. 

When Harry finally pulls away, his eyes are rimmed red and bright, and Nick swipes a thumb under them, catching a bit of the moisture leaking out. 

"You were having a bad day," Harry says. Like it's that simple. Though to a ridiculously rich popstar on a break, he supposes it might be. "I was worried." 

Nick can't help but laugh because he's been having the same bad day for ages now. In all honesty, he's not sure this isn't part of it, that he's not going to wake up and it'll be Monday all over again. 

Maybe that's why he does it. Harry's still standing so close, Nick's arm still around his shoulders, Harry's hands still holding his sides, warming Nick like he's standing next to his heater. Today might actually be Tuesday, and he may have had Ben Howard on the show instead of Pharrell, but the universe has reset him too many times, and Nick's feeling a little bit reckless. More than a little bit. He'd flown to Ibiza and Paris and Rio on first class tickets, and both his bank account and his job remain exactly the same as ever. 

Harry's hands tighten on Nick's side as he sways a bit, getting over that last bit of doubt that's plaguing him, before he leans in, cups Harry's cheek in his hand and kisses him. 

It's barely more than a soft brush of lips at first, feeling the soft plush of Harry's under his. Harry huffs out a soft breath of surprise, and then whines deep in his throat as Nick pulls back an inch. His heart is beating so fast in his chest, and Nick's entire focus is narrowing down to the fact that Harry hasn't pushed him away. And is, in fact, pulling him closer. 

"Tell me you mean this," Harry says. He sounds rough, more than he had a minute ago, more than can be accounted for by long flights and jetlag. This is heartbreak; this is what he'd sounded like after Caroline, after Taylor. Nick loves Harry's voice at all times except for these. "Tell me you don't regret saying what you said. What you did. We. What we did. Are doing." 

He can't seem to stop talking, rambling in the low, creaky heartbroken voice of his. 

_Yes_ , Nick thinks. He means everything Harry's just said. Nick's been living a nightmare for ages, but now Harry's here, gripping his hips tight enough to bruise, and looking tired and sleepy and gorgeous, all the more because he's here in Nick's flat and it's been ages. 

"Yes," he says, leaning close again to capture Harry's lips. 

There's no surprise this time. Harry slides his hands around to the small of Nick's back and holds him close while they kiss, slow and deliberate. Nick never thought they'd make it here. Harry's mouth is soft and plush and warm under his, and Harry's hair feels just as silky as it always has, the long strands spilling through Nick's fingers as he cradles Harry's head in his hands. 

Nick's heart is still about to beat out of his chest when he pulls away, staying close and leaning his forehead against Harry's. 

"I love you." That same feeling of recklessness that had let Nick fuck off around the world a day at a time is still there. If there's potentially no consequences for this, then maybe Nick can have his one day with Harry. "I've always loved you." 

Harry kisses him again, harder this time. Not quite brutal, but close. Somewhere between desperation and punishment. Nick's not sure what he's done, but Harry is kissing him again and that's what matters most. His hands move from Nick's waist to cup his face, and they must look a sight, desperately clinging to each other's ears and kissing in Nick's basement flat. It's nice that no one's here to see this. It's just for them. Maybe just for Nick, in the end. 

"I've been waiting so long to hear you say that," Harry breathes once he lets Nick go. 

Harry had never said, never even hinted. 

"You left," Nick says. This doesn't make any sense, even as it feels like something is tumbling into place, a tiny piece of Nick's heart that's been shaken loose and knocking around in his chest for the last three years. "You moved to Los Angeles. Got new friends." 

Harry shakes his head, as much as he can with Nick's fingers still woven into his hair. He blinks a few times, slow, like he's using the time to find the right words. Harry is always deliberate when he speaks. "Doesn't mean I wanted to give up the old." 

"You're never here." Why is he arguing? Harry is here, in front of him, gripping his arms now, like he's afraid Nick's going to pull away, leave the flat, jump back in his car and go somewhere else, but all Nick can think about is figuring out _why_. He desperately wishes he could just focus on keeping Harry's lips that gorgeous plump-red colour as long as possible, but there's too many pieces to keep track of right now. 

"I'm here now," Harry says. There's something petulant creeping into his tone, like he's already tired of this argument, too. 

Nick is not going to start this _thing_ with Harry with an fight. He doesn't want to be cross, he wants to be kissing Harry. He forces himself to look Harry in the eyes. From this close they're nearly glowing, the traces of red still left from a few minutes ago bringing out the clear green even more. 

"Alright," Nick breathes. "Alright." 

He takes Harry's hand in his and leads him into the bedroom. 

Harry hesitates in the doorway, their arms stretching out enough that Nick almost loses his hand before ricocheting back to stand just inches in front of Harry. He kisses him again, pressing him back into the door frame. 

"Um," Harry says, looking around. Looking anywhere but at Nick. "Are you sure we should be doing this? You were half mad last night and I can't keep coming back if this is it, if we've only got this one chance." 

Nick kisses him again. "I probably am mad. But that doesn't change anything." Nick has to take a deep breath and steady himself with his hands flat against Harry's chest before he can continue. "I just never wanted to keep you from doing anything." 

Harry flips them around and presses Nick to the wall next to the door this time, tilting his head up to capture Nick's lips because he's barefoot and Nick's got an extra inch from his boots. They still fit together so easily, they always have in every way that mattered. 

"I'd have taken you with me, if you asked." 

It's an ideal that Harry can't really promise, not when Nick's got a job that requires him to be in the same place most of the year. They both know it; but just because it can't be true right away doesn't mean the impact of his words is anything less. 

It goes to Nick's heart, to hear that. The only way to keep himself steady is to lean back and keep his tight grip on Harry's shirt so that he can't go anywhere. He never wants Harry to go anywhere ever again. 

Harry burrows his hands under Nick's shirt, stroking up and down his spine. Nick shivers under his touch and presses closer, arching away from the wall at his back to feel more of Harry. 

After another minute, they stumble towards the bed, stopping just long enough to strip. 

Nick wants to take his time, to feel Harry's tattoos under his fingers the way he was never allowed to before. It's mid-afternoon, so they've got hours. Nick plans to use every available minute. Even if the world resets on him, he wants to remember. 

Harry is gorgeous like this, laid out on Nick's sheets, knees bent and spread open, lips bitten red and shiny. Nick twists his fingers inside Harry and watches as Harry reaches for him, twisting in the sheets and trying to pull Nick closer. 

He goes, eventually, not before he's wrung more begging out of Harry. 

By the time he slides into Harry, he's properly worked up himself. Harry's bent in half under him, one arm holding up his thigh, the other tangled into Nick's hair, holding their faces together even though they're not quite kissing. 

It's slow and frantic all at the same time. Nick wants this to last forever. If he has to repeat a day, he knows he'll choose this one, every time. 

Nick comes with a slow burn, heat spreading through him slowly until it's too much and spills over leaving him a shaking, trembling mess in it's wake. He's got just enough presence of mind to reach between them and guide Harry over the edge too. 

He should have known that Harry would be clingy in the aftermath. There's come splattered between them, and Nick has got to do something about the condom now that he's pulled out and tied it off, dropping it in the rumpled sheets next to them. But Harry's got his long arms and legs wrapped around Nick and he's mouthing at Nick's neck. 

"We're going to stick," Nick warns Harry. He doesn't make much of a move to get away; Harry is very comfortable in his arms. 

Harry's dimples come out. "I'm stuck on you." 

Nick groans into Harry's neck, but stays where he is.

~*~

Nick's alarm goes off at twenty past five, as usual. Pig has snuck in again and plastered herself to his chest, trapping him between her and Harry so that he can hardly get his arm free to turn off his phone.

Once he does, the arm around his waist tightens. Harry's here. Harry's _still here_. Nick hasn't dreamed him, nor has the universe reset. 

"S'too early," Harry slurs out. "Don't get up." 

Nick turns his head so that he can see where Harry's face is squashed into the pillows. _See_ might be overstating it, it's horrifically dark in the mornings these days, but he can pick out a vague outline of a head with messy hair. 

"Got to go to work love," Nick says. The fondness in his voice is absolutely disgusting for this hour of the morning. He can't help it, though. And anyways, there's almost nothing Nick likes more than complaining. 

"Take a sickie. I just got back." 

"Would do, if it were Monday." Nick had taken so many Mondays off. For most of them he hadn't even bothered calling in. 

Harry's barely managing to form proper words, but Nick can understand him well enough. He's pouting. "It's Wednesday." 

Nick looks at his phone to be sure that's true. It is. His phone screen proudly displays the date, right above the picture of Harry wiping his mouth on his sleeve next to a Los Angeles motorway. 

"So it is."

~*~

Harry ends up attending the Teen Awards in secret. Nick gets up way too early on Sunday and meets Rita at the arena hours earlier than the awards start. Harry wakes up and starts texting sometime around ten, and Nick is distracted enough that the producers take his phone away.

He steals Rita's for a while and uses her twitter to DM Harry, since he can never be bothered to remember Harry's actual number. It changes every few months anyway. They take Rita's phone, too. 

An hour later, less than an hour before the start of the show, Harry slouches in. He's not got the backstage passes that are hanging around everyone else's necks, but then he is one of the most recognizable faces in music, so no one would dare keep him out. 

They haven't talked about this at all, but it's not like it's unusual for Harry to be draped all over Nick, so that's what he does when he comes in. Nick pinches his side, and Harry jumps away, but he's smiling big and bringing out his dimples, and Nick has to poke at those too, before sending Harry off to be a pest to someone who isn't doing Very Important Work. 

Right before the start of the actual show, Nick finds him and drags him into the dressing room that Rita's just vacated to give him the good morning kiss he's been wanting since Harry turned up. 

Since Nick left his flat, if he's honest. He just hadn't wanted to wake Harry up to do it. 

"Good morning," he whispers. 

"Afternoon now," Harry corrects, leaning in for another kiss. 

A knock on the door breaks them apart, and Nick has to go make sure he's set. 

Throughout, he catches a few glimpses of Harry talking to the other musicians backstage, but they don't have time to do anything other than smile at each other across the room or occasionally brush hands as Nick passes. 

One Direction win their award, and there's a video message from the band. Harry steals the physical award out of Nick's hands as soon as Nick gets backstage. 

There's a party after, and Harry joins that too, but steals Nick away before too long. 

"You have to get some sleep," Harry says. He's a bit tipsy as they stumble out the back entrance of the hotel where there's a car waiting and no actual photographers. No one even knows that Harry's back yet. It's been nice, just having this time to themselves. Though that's probably going to change after tonight. 

"It's only half seven." Nick hasn't left a party this early in ages. 

Harry grins and slides a hand up Nick's thigh until it's really inappropriate for public. The driver doesn't seem to be paying them much attention. "Do you really think we're going straight to sleep?" 

Alright, Nick's on board with this plan. 

Just before they sleep, when Harry is cuddling in far too close, his breath hot on Nick's shoulder, he brings up the one thing Nick doesn't want to think about. 

"Ready for Monday?" 

It's been a whole week since Monday, exactly the way it's supposed to work. He hasn't fully told Harry the story of his neverending day, just content for this week to let the days flow the way they should. 

Instead of answering, Nick tips Harry's chin up and kisses him quiet, moving soft and slow until they're both barely awake. He holds tight to Harry's arm, keeping him close even though he'd usually be pushing whoever was sharing his bed away by now. It's too hot, lying on top of each other. He's not saying it aloud, but he's a bit afraid to wake up in that same Monday again. He doesn't know if he'll survive that day again, and he doesn't want to lose what he's had this last week with Harry. 

"Come with me in the morning?" Nick asks. 

Harry nods. "Alright." 

Promising each other things had never worked before, but maybe this time it's enough to make the present stick.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @magog83 for her amazing archive of clips from this show. This fandom would be nothing without you.
> 
> Come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hllangel) and [tumblr](http://glitterbootsandyellowshorts.tumblr.com/).


End file.
